


Part Two: An Angel

by alpineshoodratt



Series: A Demon & An Angel [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adoption, Attempted Murder, Child Abuse, College, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Emotionally Hurt Dean, F/M, Foster Care, Heartbreak, High School, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Murder, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Physical Therapy, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Rape, Rape Recovery, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-05 20:31:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5389229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpineshoodratt/pseuds/alpineshoodratt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“My name is Castiel Novak, I need to report a possible abduction” <br/>‘What location, sir?’<br/>“He was taken from Midwest Middle School” <br/>‘Do you know the victim?  Did you see which way they went?’<br/>“His name is Dean Winchester, the man who took him is Fergus McCloud and they are headed north on Lincolnway, I am a few car lengths back.” <br/>‘Sir!  Sir!  Do not pursue them.  I have dispatched officers to that location.’<br/>“I am not stopping, I will stay on the phone and feed you information.” <br/>‘Sir!  Do not follow them.  You’ve helped the best way you could, you should pull back and let the authorities deal with it.’ <br/>“I apologize, ma’am.  No way in hell am I backing off.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel, junior in high school, had signed up for cadet teaching. Wanting to work in education, he received class credit for assisting with a 6th grade class at Midwest Middle School. Sammy and Jo happened to be in that class, no coincidence there. The two precocious 11 year olds were waiting for Dean when he spotted him. He was about to point out their big brother to them, when Crowley appeared behind the boy. 

Narrowing his eyes, he watched the man whisper something in Dean’s ear, Dean shook his head, allowing Crowley to walk him to the car. The odd way they shuffled over, Crowley never taking his arm from Dean’s waist or moving his other hand from Dean’s back made Castiel believe Dean wasn’t willingly sneaking away.

Castiel made up an excuse about getting a text from Dean, the kids needed to ride the bus home and he would catch up with them, heading to his ’78 Mark V, he pulled out a few car lengths behind the couple, dialing 911.

‘911 what’s your emergency?’

“My name is Castiel Novak, I need to report a possible abduction” 

‘What location, sir?’

“He was taken from Midwest Middle School” 

‘Do you know the victim? Did you see which way they went?’

“His name is Dean Winchester, the man who took him is Fergus McCloud and they are headed north on Lincolnway, I am a few car lengths back.”

‘Sir! Sir! Do not pursue them. I have dispatched officers to that location.’

“I am not stopping, I will stay on the phone and feed you information.” 

‘Sir! Do not follow them. You’ve helped the best way you could, you should pull back and let the authorities deal with it.’ 

“I apologize, ma’am. No way in hell am I backing off.” 

Castiel set the phone down on the passenger seat, listening to the woman’s squeaky voice insist he wait for the police.   
He had been driving for over 20 minutes, still no cop cars in sight. Castiel continued to shadow the red Mustang. Hanging back when Crowley pulled in to an overgrown parking lot, dilapidated buildings rusting around it. The man tugged Dean out, a reflection of light beaming off his other hand. Crowley was holding a knife.

Putting his car in park, picking up his phone, “Ma’am, they have stopped at the old industrial park on North Wozniak Road, McCloud has a weapon.”

‘Sir! Stay where you are! Do not follow them any further, you’re putting yourself at risk. I’ve updated the officers to their current location, help is on the way. Sir? Sir?’

Castiel had dropped the cell back on the vinyl, leaving his car on the road for the cops to see, as he crept around the nearest building. He hadn’t caught sight of which building they entered, so he tiptoed to the entrance of each structure, listening carefully for voices.

Several minutes had gone by and he still couldn’t locate them. Crowley startled him by running from the next door he intended to check. Dean wasn’t with him. As much as Castiel ached to chase after him, he needed to find Dean first. Castiel waited for Crowley to round the corner, rushing through the entrance. First, he tried whispering Dean’s name loudly, when he heard Crowley peel out of the lot, he raised his voice to a shout.

Castiel looked around the broken office chairs and random piles of newspaper, gazing upwards to find 5 rooms on another level. Hastily climbing the stairs, he opened then slammed shut the first 4 doors, the fifth leading to the roof.

Dean lay on his side, rolled in to a ball and completely coated in blood. Running to him, “Dean! Dean! Can you hear me?” He pushed two fingers to the boy’s jugular…..a pulse. It was slow, weak, but it was there. “Dean. Listen to me. Help is on the way.” He continued to ramble comfort and encouragement as he yanked the belt from his trench coat to tie a tourniquet around Dean’s upper left arm. Tugging the belt from his jeans, he repeated the treatment on the boy’s upper right arm  
.   
Lifting him bridal style, just a second to register how weightless Dean was, he moved carefully, stumbling down the stairs, listening closely for shallow breathing. Bursting out of the building to find the city police and the county sheriff had finally arrived. The officers swarmed to take the boy from him, calling in an ambulance and administering first aid.

Several policemen were on him, barking questions until he could assure them that he was the one who called for help, not the one who abducted and stabbed Dean. The paramedics finally arrived, loading the boy in to the ambulance, starting an IV as they blared away. Castiel was covered in Dean’s blood, he had to reassure authorities several times that he wasn’t hurt. He gave all the information he could, pleading with them to call Dean’s parents as soon as possible. They needed to meet him at the hospital. 

 

Beeps. 

Rhythmic, steady beeps. 

Voices. 

Muffled, indecipherable voices. 

He was heavy. His whole body, his whole being felt heavy. He couldn’t move, couldn’t open his eyes, and couldn’t speak.

Dean Winchester, 15 year old boy, suffered 27 separate knife wounds to his arms and shoulders, causing traumatic nerve and muscle damage. It appeared the blade had hit and chipped bone 9 times. He received 4 pints of O negative blood immediately upon arrival. Entering surgery soon after to repair the brachial arteries on both arms.

The police said he was ‘lucky to be alive’, the doctors said it was ‘a miracle he survived’. The important message being:

Dean was alive. 

 

Waking up in the ICU on Thanksgiving Day, Dean floated in confusion. His mouth tasted horrible, his throat desert dry, he swallowed several times before forcing his eyes open. Ellen was sleeping in an uncomfortable looking chair right next to his head. An IV in the back of his hand, oxygen levels detected by the red light shining light on his index finger. Several wires ran under his hospital gown to his chest, the heart rate monitor singing at regular intervals as oxygen poured slowly in to the mask on his face.

He was in the hospital. Ok. Why was he in the hospital? Dean tried to move his hand, intending to wake Ellen up, only to discover neither of his arms willing to obey. Attempts to lift his head were swiftly rewarded with shooting pain to his temples. His whimpers of pain got through to Ellen, she woke, immediately in the boy’s face.

“Dean, honey? Hey, can you hear me?”

Dean nodded slowly; of course he could hear her.

She reached over, hitting a red button, receiving a response almost instantly.

‘Can I help you?’

“Yes, Dean is awake, could you notify the doctor, please?”

‘Yes, ma’am. Right away.’

Dean searched Ellen’s face for answers, he felt sleepy and more than a little confused.

A sturdy-built doctor hurried in, glancing at the monitors before turning to his patient.

“Welcome back, Dean. You gave us quite a scare, brother.” 

Pulling a penlight from his pocket he shined it in each of Dean’s green eyes, checked his pulse, listened to his heart beat and then picked up each arm, surveying the bandages.

Dean laid compliant, brows furrowed through the examination. Ellen had snuck off to the corner, murmuring on her cell phone. The doctor pulled his oxygen mask up, resting it on the top of his head.

“How are you feeling, kid?”

Swallowing several times in an attempt to moisten his throat, “thirsty” he answered, voice like gravel.

Offering a cup with a straw from the nearby tray stand, Dean sipped the water eagerly. It was the absolute best thing he ever tasted.

“Slow down there, brother. Can’t have you upsetting your stomach. Are you in any pain?”

The boy took a moment to consider the question, “My head hurts, both arms ache, can’t move them”

“You’ve had considerable muscle damage, kid. It may take a big to get mobility back.” 

“What happened?”

Ellen had returned from her haven in the corner, “You don’t remember, honey?”

“No, was there an accident or something? Is Sammy ok?”

“Hon, Sammy is fine. Dr. Lafitte? Maybe we should have that trauma counselor back in here?”

Pressing the intercom, the physician instructed the nurse to page Pamela Barnes.

“Momma, why do I need a trauma counselor? My arms hurt; they feel like they’re asleep. How traumatic is that?”

Ellen exchanged worried looks with the dr. Frankly, the secrecy was starting to piss Dean off.

A noise by the door caught their attention. Castiel stood there; purple half-moon under his eyes, wearing blue scrubs, when the hell did he become freaking nurse?

“Cas, come on in, sweetheart.” 

The older boy crept to Dean’s bedside, offering an awkward smile.

“What the heck are you wearing, Castiel?” 

“My clothing was stained, hospital staff permitted me to borrow…these” he looked down at himself with distaste and a wrinkled nose.

“Were you hurt too? Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

“I am not injured, Dean.” 

That’s when the mysterious Pamela Barnes showed up, white lab coat over a black Ramones t-shirt and blue jeans.

“Good morning, Dean. It’s nice to see you awake. I’m Pamela Barnes but please call me Pam. How are you feeling?” 

“I’m a bit pissed off” he began only to be interrupted by Ellen admonishing, “Dean! Language!”

“Sorry Momma. I’m getting angry because no one will tell me what is going on.”

“Understandable. Dr, Ellen, Cas? Would you give me just a few minutes alone with Dean? I’m sure you could use a cup of coffee, maybe a nap?”

Ellen kissed his forehead, Castiel offered an uncomfortable wave and the Dr patted his shoulder, all leaving in unison.   
Pam pulled the chair closer to the bed, exhaling and giving Dean a sad smile.

“What do you remember Dean? The last thing you remember?” 

The boy concentrated, increasing the pain in his head.

“I-I was waiting outside Sam and Jo’s school. We were supposed to collect leaves for Ellen.”

“Good. That’s good. Anything after that?”

“Castiel. He was calling my name, blue eyes really close to my face… then I woke up here.”

“He’s a good friend. Hasn’t left the hospital since you came in.” 

“I really don’t know him that well, when, exactly, did I come in?”

“Tuesday evening. It’s Thursday morning, Thanksgiving Day.”

He studied her face for signs of deceit; she was stone-cold honest. “What happened to Wednesday?”

She grinned, “You napped all through Wednesday. You have a lot of people that love you, you had them worried. Dean, can you tell me about Crowley?”

“Crowley? He…he’s my ex-boyfriend. We broke up in August, he…..he…..he…..” 

Memories, images, feelings came crashing over him in wave after wave of pain.

“He tried to kill me” he whispered, tears springing to his eyes and tracing paths down his face without permission.

“Crowley stabbed you 27 times, Dean. You had considerable blood loss, extensive damage to both arms, then you lost consciousness; Castiel brought you down from the roof to the get help.”

Dean sat there, breathing heavy and fast, heart monitor beeping at a faster pace. “Castiel saved me. Do you know why he was there?”

“He followed you from the school, saw you with the man and called 911. He’s a good guy.” 

“Where’s Crowley now? In jail?” eyes blinking rapidly, fighting any other tears that try to escape.

“I’m sorry, Dean. He disappeared. His face is all over the news; his parents have been interviewed multiple times. Don’t worry, though. We have a local sheriff, Jody Mills, sitting outside your door as we speak.”

Dean nodded hesitantly, Crowley was still out there.

\----- I can’t just leave you here either. Can’t leave you here for someone to find, someone to touch. -----

Collapsing back on the pillow, lids shut tight, fighting against the fear and panic. 

“He’ll be back.” 

“No, Dean. There are enough people watching out for you, you’ll be safe.”

“They were all there before, he threatened to hurt them. Loving me is just dangerous.” 

“You can’t really believe that.”

“I can’t really believe any of this. I loved him, stupid and naive but I did. And Crowley loved me, twisted and obsessive but true. I’m really tired, Miss Barnes. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Understandable. You need a lot of rest, when you do want to talk, just hit the red button and ask for me.” 

“I can’t move my damn arms, lady.” 

With a sad smile, “Someone who loves you will be with you at all times. They can help. As hard as it may be for you, Dean. You’re going to have to let people help you now.” 

 

After the trauma counselor left, Dean fell back to sleep, dreams dominated by the image of a tiny squirrel, large fluffy tail, scurrying about, and collecting colorful leaves. Suddenly, a faceless creature appeared, a huge shining knife, and then the squirrel’s tail chopped off. Blood. So much blood, then blue eyes

Huge beautiful blue eyes filling his vision before waking up, heart racing, itching to wipe the sweat from his brow but unable to move his upper limbs.

Bobby was there this time, watching some documentary on urban legends. Dean remained silent, studying the man’s face as a deep voiced narrator explained the tale of ‘The Woman In White’. 

“Hey Pops” he whispered huskily, throat still dry and raw.

“Boy! You gave me one hell of a scare!”

“I’m sorry. You on ‘watch’ duty?”

“For a bit. Ellen wore herself out, we didn’t want to bring Sam or Jo up yet but Castiel is sleeping in the visitor’s lounge. Jimmy tried to yank the kid out of here physically, he just won’t leave.” 

Dean shook his head, “I’ll never be able to thank him enough for what he did, but we weren’t exactly friends before all of this. Why would he insist on staying?”

“Think he wants to keep an eye on you. He got all messed up by the whole thing. Sneaking after you and Crowley, finding you all bloody and dying. Castiel don’t talk much, when he does he speaks a little too formal for my taste, but the kid is all heart. Shoot, Sammy and Jo think the guy hung the moon.”

Dean grinned for a second, recalling all the time Castiel had spent with his little brother and sister. His smile faded as he realized what little attention he had giv  
en his siblings since meeting Crowley. Everything had revolved around that man. How did he not see how evil he was? 

“Cas is gonna stay with you a bit. I’m headed home to build an iron room in the basement to lock you in. We gotta keep you outta trouble, boy!” Gruff Bobby Singer half-joked.

“Cas doesn’t have to stay, I feel like sleeping again anyway.”

“We’re not leaving you alone, Dean. That’s not up for discussion.”

Bobby adjusted the cap on his head, gifted Dean with a very uncharacteristic peck on the forehead, leaving to find Dean’s next guardian.

Castiel shuffled in a few minutes later. He took his place in the ever present chair, squinting his eyes at the continuing documentary. Exploring the legend of ‘Bloody Mary’ at the moment.

“Hey, Cas” 

“Hello Dean”

“Your turn to babysit, huh?”

“You are not an infant.” 

Dean shook his head and chuckled at Castiel’s deadpan voice.

“I feel like one, hate being helpless. Can’t even move my arms.”

“I suppose that would be quite inconvenient, although comparatively, it is not as tragic as it could have been.”

“You’re a real ‘glass half full’ guy,huh? You know, I’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you did. I owe you my life.”

“You owe me nothing, Dean. The gratitude you have just expressed is enough. I have read somewhere that if you save a person’s life, you are responsible for that life. I believe that to be correct.” 

“So, you’re responsible for me now? I sure hope so; I haven’t been doing a very good job.”

“You take too much credit for your circumstance. All blame lies with Fergus.”

Dean nodded, lost in thought for a few seconds as he examined his sheets.

“Thank you, Castiel. You’ve been trying to watch out for me from the beginning and I’ve been fighting against it. You’re an odd dude, but I think you should hang around more. Keep me out of trouble.”

“Am I ‘odd’?” 

 

“Yes, but you’re also the only angel I have ever seen.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel had become a constant fixture, taking the ‘responsibility for a saved life’ thing very seriously. Dean actually enjoyed the guys company. The strange way he talked, had to have almost every joke explained to him, which made Dean grin. Castiel had cracked a smile more than once too.

Dean suffered through 3 more surgeries, repairing his muscles, tendons and blood vessels. His arms continued to feel heavy, uncooperative and painful. The nerve damage was still a problem. He couldn’t move the four fingers on his left hand without a fair amount of concentration, had no feeling in his left thumb at all. Dean’s right hand was a little better, physically moving it was not the issue, it was sensitivity. Anything hotter or colder than room temperature felt excruciatingly exaggerated. Physical therapy couldn’t begin until his muscles were mended.

He wasn’t released home until after the New Year. His family spending Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s Eve at the hospital. Whenever he mentioned feeling guilty about any of it, he was promptly silenced by a chorus of loved ones. 

Facing Sammy was the hardest. His brother was a smart kid, asked a lot of very good questions.

“Why would you go out with a jerk that was mean to you?”   
“Why wouldn’t you hit him back?”  
“What if he would’ve killed you? What was I supposed to do then, Dean?”

These were the very same questions he had asked himself a thousand times since waking up in the hospital. He still didn’t have the answers. 

Having people help him dress, tie his shoes and even go to the bathroom was beyond humiliating. The worst: a tie between Sammy giving him a shower and Bobby wiping his rear end. Pretty sure Bobby won that one.

Castiel had become a constant fixture, taking the ‘responsibility for a saved life’ thing very seriously. Dean actually enjoyed the guys company. The strange way he talked, had to have almost every joke explained to him, which made Dean grin. Castiel had cracked a smile more than once too. His trench coat was back, a miracle-working dry cleaner helped with that.

Dean ached to bring up Samandriel, just couldn’t find a sensitive way to approach it. Castiel opened the door for that one afternoon after tutoring Dean on his school work. The sophomore had yet to physically attend Midwest High since November, Castiel and Ellen helping him write answers on ‘take-home’ assignments.

“Hey Cas, why do you wear that coat every day? I mean, even last summer when we were all dying from heat exhaustion, you were still rocking the jacket.”

“It was my brother, Samandriel’s coat.”

“Aw, geez man. I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

“No apology necessary. There was no way for you to know.”

“What was he like?”

“My older brother was very quiet, incredibly intelligent, had a hidden sense of humor and happened to be secretly homosexual. But you knew that last bit of information, did you not?”

“Yeah” Dean admitted, feeling a bit guilty for asking. “Crowley told me.” 

“What other details about my older brother did Fergus privy you to?”

Dean closed his eyes, sighed, and then inhaled deeply, gathering courage.

“He said they broke up and Samandriel killed himself.”

“I blame Fergus for my brother’s death. Which is why I became concerned when you began dating McCloud.”

“Castiel, man. I don’t think your brother committed suicide.”

“What would make you say such a thing, Dean?”

“I tried to end it with Crowley once, 4th of July. He told me about Samandriel then. How your brother broke up with him, not the other way around. Crowley hinted that he made Samandriel’s death appear to be a suicide.”

Castiel sat very still and quiet for several minutes.

“Do you believe that to be true, Dean?”

The boy nodded, adding “he threatened to slice my wrists, make it look like I killed myself if we broke up. That’s why I stayed with him, Castiel. The man scared the shit out of me. For good reason, apparently.”

“I remember your expression on Independence Day very clearly. I regret that I did not attempt to help you then.”

“Thanks, but it wouldn’t have done any good. I was forbidden to talk to you, besides; I wouldn’t have listened.” 

 

Pamela Barnes, the trauma counselor from the hospital, referred Dean to a psychologist named Chuck Shurley. The guy seemed to have enough problems of his own. Dr. Shurley appeared nervous all the time, hair uncombed, poorly shaven and wore a robe over his clothing most days.

Answering the door with a cup of coffee in his hand, he ushered Dean and Ellen inside. His office held a couch, a desk and chair and two recliners. The coffee table in the middle of the seating arrangement kept a couple bottles of water and a box of Kleenex.

“Uh…Pamela told me a little bit about you. Um…m-maybe we could start earlier, like when you were a kid, ya know?”

Dean wasn’t sure if the man was asking his permission or something, he was a pretty meek guy. Maybe it was an act? A way to make Dean feel less insecure by making himself look like a mess. Either way, the boy had no intention of discussing his crappy life before the Singers. If they had to hash out the stuff about Crowley, fine, but the John story need to stay in the past.

“Look, dude….” Only to be stopped short by Ellen’s hand smacking the back of his head, “Respect, Dean!” 

“Yes ma’am. Dr. Shurley, I rather not talk about my dad.” 

“Oh-oh ok. Um…where would you like to, uh… start?”

Dean began with moving in with the Singers, miserable at school, meeting Crowley. That took up the hour and they agreed to continue with another appointment the following week. 

 

May, six months after the attack, Dr. Lafitte proclaimed Dean healed enough to start physical therapy. Now 16, the boy was thrilled, thinking he would regain the use of his grossly scarred upper limbs. What he hadn’t counted on was the work and pain that had to go in to it.

Lisa Braeden, his physical therapist, an attractive brunette in her late 20’s, displayed incredible patience at Dean’s whining, complaining and eventual cursing. Castiel had declared himself Dean’s transportation to and from therapy, since the appointment were in the late afternoon when Cas was out of school and Ellen needed to be home for the younger kids.

So the older boy sat, playing on his phone most days, while Dean worked. The kid really worked. Sweat and tears of frustration proof of that. On an abnormally tough day, Dean instructed to work on pull-ups, one of the more painful exercises Lisa assigned, and the boy threw himself down on the bench. Informing Lisa where to insert her pull-up bar, the therapist smirked and excused herself to get water.

Castiel stepped over from the waiting area, lowering himself next to his friend. “Giving up for the day?”

“Don’t be a dick, Castiel. Pull-ups are just….just….bullshit.”

“You fail to see that they will help you?”

“No, I know they do. They’re just….too hard.”

“Or are you feeling sorry for yourself today?”

“Hey, fuck you Castiel! You think they’re so easy, you do them!”

“Very well.” He stood to slip his revered coat off his shoulders, folding it neatly before setting it beside Dean. The older boy went to the bar, raising his hands above his head to grip the metal properly.

“I will do two pull-ups for every one you do” he baited.

Dean narrowed his eyes at his friend, “four. You do four to my one, that’s the only way it’s remotely fair. Check out your muscle tone, Farm-Boy.”

“Agreed. Now cease your stalling and let us begin”

Dean stood next to Castiel, raising his arms slowly, every movement agony, mirrored he older boy’s position and nodded, gritting his teeth. Pulling himself up, stretching his neck to get his chin above the bar, then collapsing down, panting. Castiel did his four, nodding at Dean.

By the time the two sweaty boys stopped, Dean had done the required number of reps, and then some. Lisa stood in the doorway, arms crossed, grinning knowingly. Castiel knew exactly what he was doing when he sat next to Dean on that bench.

 

Weekly appointments with Chuck had progressed to the point of dealing with Dean’s rape. Dean hadn’t told another soul about the assault, not his parents and not the police. Describing the attack, explaining how he pleaded and fought, how Crowley justified it, was just gut-wrenching. Chuck listened carefully, as Dean vindicated Crowley’s anger that night.

“I knew he wanted me to stay. I knew he would be pissed if I left, but I tried to call Ellen anyway. I knew he would be mad and did it anyway. Maybe if I could’ve stayed by his side, kept him calm while he was drinking….”

“So, it’s your fault?”

“I think I could have avoided it, yes.”

“Dean. Why do you think Crowley assaulted you? Anger?”

“Well, yeah….He said he had been patient that it would make us closer.”

“So, you believe it was about sex?”

“It was sex. I mean, we physically had sex.”

“Rape is not sex. Rape is anger, control, power. The man did not attack you because he wanted sex, Dean. He needed to intimidate you, take away your ability to resist, to defy him. What was your relationship like afterwards?”

Dean took a few moments to consider the question, “He threatened to kill me”

“This is new information, you haven’t told the police about this?”

“No. I spent a week in bed, he snuck in and said I couldn’t break up with him, he’d kill me and make it look like a suicide.”

“Why do you think you never asked for help? Never told anyone?”

“I was…..ashamed. I’m the strong one. The tough one. I take care of Sammy. I’ve been that guy since I was four years old. I can’t understand it myself, how I survived 10 years with my dad to be turned in to a….a….puppet. Castiel called me that once, ‘a puppet’. 

“Tell me about Castiel…..”

 

Sessions continued with Chuck, Dean actually like the guy. He was much more knowledgeable than he seemed at first. Spring turned in to summer, Dean continuing his physical therapy like a man obsessed. He had ‘take home’ exercises. A large, tubular rubber band he looped around the closet door and pulled on, alternating right to left and back to front. He had to hide the elastic when he finished, Jo and Sam had taken to flicking each other with it, resulting in some serious welts.

He hauled scrap for Bobby, not out of punishment but out of determination. Shirtless, skin tanning around multiple scars, he’d spend an hour a day sweating outside. The first time Castiel witnessed this; he stripped his shirt and worked alongside his friend. Encouragement? Company? Dean didn’t care about his motivation, having the guy next to him while he worked made the physical pain appear less unbearable.

Castiel with his shirt off. An earlier comment about his muscle tone did not do the guy justice. His arms, shoulders, pecs and abs, just perfect. Pissed Dean off a little bit to tell the truth, challenged him to ‘catch up’ though. Then, Castiel turned his back to lift a metal piece from the ground. Dean stared to the point it would be considered rude, the guy had a tattoo, angel wings, from his upper shoulders to his lower back, the tips of bottom feathers disappearing in to his jeans. 

“Wow….” Dean gawked.

“Oh, the skin art. Yes, I asked for it in honor of my brother. Samandriel and Castiel are both names of angels.”

“Your dad let you do that?”

Cas smiled, shook his head “No. I did not secure his permission before hand. He was angry with me for some time. He has accepted it now, may even appreciate it.”

“It’s really beautiful, man. The tattoo artist must be very talented.”

“I drew the wings, he applied them. It was a bit painful but I am happy you like it.” 

“I do. Just…..never expected you to be a ‘tat guy’.” 

 

“We all have our secrets, Dean Winchester.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s was a Friday afternoon in October, Dean walking down to the middle school like he did every day, a car pulled up next to him. Alastair, the driver, Ruby and Meg in the back. Shit.   
> “Need a ride?” offered Alastair, patting the empty passenger seat.   
> “No, thank you.” Dean responded quieter than he wanted to. He wanted to scream at them to get the hell away from him. Something wouldn’t let him. The same something that made his heart race and his scars itch.   
> “Come on” Ruby smirked from the back window, “We just want to talk to you for a few minutes.”

A week before 4th of July, Dean walked down the gravel driveway to collect the mail. Scanning through it was he strolled back, he found a letter for him personally, no return address. Furrowing his brow, he never received mail. Tucking the other items under his arm, he opened the envelope. 

It was a greeting card, the front displaying a glossy picture of a squirrel nibbling an acorn. Dean’s heart dropped in to his stomach. Practically panting for oxygen, he hesitantly opened it, 

\----------Happy Anniversary My Little Squirrel----------  
\----------Wait For Me----------

Dean dropped the card in the dust as he leaned over to vomit. 

Catching his breath, he picked up the vile paper, placing it back in the envelope. Creeping back to the house, he wondered what anniversary Crowley thought they shared. It hit him like a punch in the face.

Crowley’s graduation party.

That son of a bitch. 

He walked in the door, pale and blinking quickly in an attempt to fight tears. 

“Honey, what’s wrong? Dean? Sit down, what’s the matter?” Ellen fussed.

He simply handed her the envelope, sunk to a kitchen chair and laid his head on the table. 

Ellen read it, “Oh God”, digging her phone from her pocket, called Sherriff Jody Mills to update her on the harassment. The officer came over, collected the card, pointing out the postmark. United Kingdom. Scotland is part of the United Kingdom.

“He went to his grandparents like he said he would” Dean whispered.

“Can’t you extradite from there?” Ellen, arm around Dean’s shoulders.

“It’s a complicated process, but I’ll turn the evidence over to the state’s attorney. We’ll see where it goes from there. I’m sorry, Dean. I wish I had a more definite answer. He contacts you again, you call me immediately.” 

“Yes ma’am” the boy agreed, staring at a coffee ring on the kitchen table. 

 

In July, the Singers were charged with another foster child. A newborn named Adam, born addicted to Demon’s Blood, his mother shooting up throughout her entire pregnancy. The infant cried a lot, had full body shivers, Ellen swaddling him tightly in a receiving blanket, holding him to her chest.

Sammy and Jo were temporary fascinated with the baby, wanting to feed and hold him. When the newness wore off, there was Dean. Protective older brother since he was 4 years old, he attached himself to little Adam immediately. 

In the middle of the night, he woke up to take the crying infant from Ellen, ignoring her protest.

“Momma, I can’t sleep anyway, nightmares again. Let me take little man and you rest.” 

Ellen handed Adam over tenderly, kissing Dean on the cheek, “Thank you, honey. You have such a good heart.”

Dean walked the floor, fed and changed, walked the floor again until the newborn finally fell asleep on his chest.

Next morning, the entire family tip-toed around the napping boys on the couch. Adam, resting his tiny head against the rhythmic beating of Dean’s heart, the boy’s arms wrapped securely around his little man. 

Castiel came over, as he usually did every day around 10am, peeking in on his friend. Smiling to himself at the absolute sweetness of the display.   
Ellen gazed over the taller guy’s shoulder. 

“Isn’t that adorable?” 

“Yes it is”

“Does he know yet?”

“Does who know what, Ellen?”

“Does Dean know you’re in love with him?” 

Castiel was shocked in to silence for a moment. 

“Is it that obvious?” 

“To everyone but that stubborn, green-eyed boy over there.” 

“I believe it is too soon.” 

“Love is never too soon, Castiel.” 

“No. He is not ready for a relationship.” 

“Maybe not, but he wouldn’t have come this far without you.” 

“I believe he would have. There is not anyone like Dean Winchester.” 

“No, there isn’t. He’s an amazing young man.” 

Patting him on the back, Ellen stepped back in to the kitchen, leaving Cas to marvel at his strong survivor. 

 

By September, little Adam had stopped the full body shivering and Dean had him on a pretty reliable schedule, insuring the baby to sleep most of the night. School was starting again, Dean whining and pleading for Bobby and Ellen to let him continue studying at home. He could help with the baby and didn’t want any harassment or whispering about what happened with Crowley. Really didn’t need anyone pointing out his scars or asking him inappropriate questions about last November.

Ellen wanted to give in but Bobby insisted he ‘couldn’t hide forever’. The gruff man informing him he had nothing to be ashamed of, idgits were everywhere, not just in high school. Dean reluctantly agreed to ‘give it a try’. 

Castiel was a senior this year, Dean a junior. Cas continued his cadet teaching, up to 5 afternoons a week, every day after lunch at Midwest Middle School. Still working with 6th graders, Jo and Sammy progressed to 7th. After school, Dean walked down to the middle school, waited for Castiel who insisted on taking him to therapy, Lisa on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Chuck on Wednesdays. 

Dean wore long sleeves, no matter how warm it was, still very self-conscious about his scars. He was excused from P.E. with a letter from Ms. Braden. There were minor whispers in the hall, but Cas still attended general education during the morning, hanging with him made Dean more assured. He hated feeling weak.

It’s was a Friday afternoon in October, Dean walking down to the middle school like he did every day, a car pulled up next to him. Alastair, the driver, Ruby and Meg in the back.

Shit. 

“Need a ride?” offered Alastair, patting the empty passenger seat. 

“No, thank you.” Dean responded quieter than he wanted to. He wanted to scream at them to get the hell away from him. Something wouldn’t let him. The same something that made his heart race and his scars itch.

“Come on” Ruby smirked from the back window, “We just want to talk to you for a few minutes.”

“Please leave me alone” he murmured, walking quicker.

Alastair rolled the car over to the side, in front of him. All three of Crowley’s friends got out, blocking his path. Dean stopped, studying them, breathing rapidly through his nose.

“Crowley misses you” offered Ruby, stepping towards him. He hadn’t even noticed he was backing away from her until he hit a tree behind him.

“We’re not going to touch you,” Meg assured, hands up, palms out, placating.

“He just wanted us to tell you to wait for him. He’ll be coming back soon, and then you can be together again.” Alastair continued.

These people were psychotic. 

Completely out of their minds.

Dean pressed in to the tree so hard; the bark began scratching him through his shirt. The trio around him, their eyes widened, and then they turned back and hurried to the car. Dean peered around the tree to see what spooked them.

Sherriff Jody Mills 

Man, he loved that woman.

Rolling down her passenger side window, “Everything ok, Dean?”

He pulled open the door, sat in the seat next to her. “Either you’re following me; this is coincidence or a miracle. Anyway, thank you. They wanted to give me a message from Crowley, freaked me out more than it should have.” 

Brows furrowed, “What was the message?” 

“For me to wait for him, that he was coming back”

“I’m going to ask that your restraining order include his band of misfits. They’re loyal to him to a fault. We interviewed them several times after your attack; all buttoned up, and wouldn’t say a word. Want me to scoot you down to the middle school, just to be safe?”

“Yeah, thanks.” 

 

After that, Castiel insisted on Dean waiting in the library with Missouri until he came to pick him up. Dean was so tired of being scared, so tired of letting that fear manipulate his daily life and vented this frustration with Chuck several times. 

“It’s been almost a year, Chuck. When do I get to go a whole day without thinking about him? Every time I start to think I’m going to be ok, there’s a card in the mail, then there’s faithful minions cornering me. I just…..I want….. ARG!” 

“Dean. You almost lost your life. You want to go a whole day without thinking about him? Do you ever go a whole day without looking at your scars? How many nights are you free from bad dreams? I told you, PTSD doesn’t just go away. You’re doing the right thing, Dean. You’re talking about it and you’re accepting help.” 

The boy shook his head, “And I hate it, Chuck. I hate talking about it and I hate accepting help. You know when I feel the calmest? The safest? Holding Adam. Taking care of that little man, feeling needed instead of needing someone.”

Chuck grinned, “That’s actually a very good thing, Dean. Speaking of needing someone. How is Castiel?”

“How did ‘needing someone’ make you think of Cas?” 

“He’s there, with you, every single day, right?” 

“Well, yeah. He’s my best friend.”

“Just your friend?”

“What else would he be?” 

Chuck stared at Dean expectantly. Dean sighed, looked at the swirls in the carpet, shaking his head. 

“Do you believe me thinking I’m in love with him has something to do with him saving my life?”

“If you would’ve said it right after the attack, I would think that. Like you said, that was almost a year ago. Infatuations or crushes don’t last that long, Dean. Have you given any thought to telling him?” 

“NO! It would ruin everything! If he didn’t feel the same, it would make things awkward; he’d stop….helping as much.” 

“What if he does feel the same? What would that be like?” 

“My life is never that easy, Chucky. Never.” 

 

In November, two years after the Winchester brothers first moved in with the Singers, one year since Dean’s near death experience, two letters came in the mail. One addressed to Sam, one to Dean, return address ‘Mike Durfee State Prison’ on both. Jo, Castiel, Sam and Dean were all sitting at the kitchen table, the older two attempting to teach 7th graders to play Poker. Bobby set an envelope in from of each boy without a word. Sammy picked his up, staring at it as if it was written in Chinese. 

Dean said, “Game over guys.” Folded his hand, ripped the envelope and it’s unopened contents in half before dropping them in the trash and climbing the stairs to his room. 

Castiel looked at Sam with raised brows, Sammy nodded and the older boy moved to retrieve the papers from the garbage. He made no attempt to read them, simply lay one half on top of the other before placing them in his pocket and heading upstairs. 

Jo watched with concern in her eyes as Sam opened his and read it slowly. He looked angry, then sad, then angry again. He folded it neatly, replaced it in the envelope and laid it back on the table. Jo gave him a hug; he clung to her as if she were his lifeline, crying softly in to his sister’s shoulder.

Ellen and Bobby were bickering in hushed voices a room away. “He can’t do this to them, Bobby. What did he write about? Forgiveness? Offering an apology? You know, I don’t think Dean would’ve looked twice at Crowley if he had grown up with the love he deserved. That man as done so much damage, you shouldn’t have even given them those letters.” 

“Ellen, I love you but you’re wrong. It’s not our place to keep their father from contacting them, the state gave John permission. It’s our job to be here when those letters arrive. When those boys need a hug, or someone to vent to, that’s what we do. We’re their constant. John let them down, Crowley almost destroyed Dean. We stand here, we let them hang on to us and know that not everyone in the world is waiting to let them down.” 

 

Castiel knocked softly on Dean’s bedroom door; a gruff “Yeah” gave permission to enter. Dean lay on his stomach, face buried in his pillow, voice muffled, “It’s ok, Cas. I just need a minute.” 

“You are not going to read the letter from your father?” 

“You saw me throw it away. It’s garbage.” 

“I think you may regret that. I think you will want to know what he wrote when you are calmer.” 

“Cas, I know you’re trying to help, but….I don’t want to hear anything that man has to say. Drugs were always more important, just because he’s sober now doesn’t make him my dad. Bobby Singer is my dad.”

“Yes, I would agree. I do know a little bit about a parent choosing illegal substances over their children.”

Dean sat up to that, “What do you know, Castiel? Jimmy looks at you like you hung the moon.” 

“Yes, my father and I are very close. I have never spoken to you about my mother.” 

Dean leaned forward in interest, elbows on his knees. “No, you’ve never mentioned her. I didn’t want to ask, I assumed she passed away.”

Cas nodded, lowering himself to Sam’s bed. “Yes. I was 6 years old, Samandriel was 8, and our mother discovered the drug labelled ‘Demon’s Blood’. My mother had an addiction to painkillers, her doctor refused to prescribe any more for her. She began shooting the narcotic in to her arm, sometimes my brother and I would witness this ourselves. My father attempted to send her to a rehabilitation clinic but she refused. After school one afternoon, Samandriel needed a permission slip signed, and went searching the house for her. My mother overdosed, needle still in her vein. She was 30 years old.”

“I’m sorry Cas. I had no idea. John killed a man for a hit of ‘Demon’s Blood’. Maybe Sammy wants to know who he is, he’s younger than me. I remember a lot more than he does. We were hungry, cold, dirty, and homeless because that man didn’t want to be a father. He’s done enough damage, there’s no apology that will fix that.” 

“No. Nothing will fix it, Dean. He may not even be offering an apology. You will never know what his intentions for contacting you are if you refuse to read the letter. I think you will regret it.” 

“Why is this so important to you, man?” 

“I…..care a great deal about you, Dean. I believe you may require some closure, I am certain Dr. Shurley would agree with me.” 

“‘Care a great deal’ huh?” 

“Yes. I’m afraid my affection for you has progressed beyond friendship.” He confessed awkwardly, studying the boots on his feet, “you are very important to me, Dean Winchester.”

Dean moved to sit next to his friend, tilting his head, trying to see his blue eyes, “You’re very important to me too, Cas.” Taking a deep breath, “I….I ….think I love you.” 

Castiel’s head popped up, eyes wide, face so serious Dean almost laughed. 

“I have been in love with you for quite some time.” 

Dean nudged Cas before laying his head lightly on the taller boy’s shoulder.

“Maybe my no-good dad should’ve written earlier, we could’ve worked this out a long time ago.” 

Castiel chuckled, “Heart-felt confessions do not excuse you from reading that letter.” 

“No? It should at least delay it for a while.” 

“Very well. But only because I love you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean paced, crumbling the paper up in his hand, growling angrily,   
> “He’s sorry? Can I write him back? Are you kidding me?”   
> “Dean, isn’t that what you expected him to write?” Chuck asked.  
> “Yeah, I guess. I was just hoping for something more…..”   
> “What did you hope for?”   
> “I don’t know. For a second, I thought he had decided to give up his rights. Let Ellen and Bobby adopt us.”   
> “I’ve never heard you say you wanted that before.”

Dean did read the letter. Taped back together, Castiel with him in Chuck’s office. 

 

Dean,  
The lady from child services told me I have permission now to write you and Sammy. I’ve seen school pictures from the last two years; you’ve both grown up strong. Your foster family has taken good care of you. They gave me medical papers to tell me how my neglect affected your health. Apologies for my failure as a father are empty but I will say it anyway.   
I am sorry, son.   
Police reports and more medical papers say it’s a miracle you’re alive. Some crazy guy tried stabbing you to death. You must have gotten your strength from your mother.  
I am a weak person. I have depended on pills or shots to make me feel numb since I was 17 years old. Your mom was too good for me. She knew how worthless I was but married me anyway. I thought I could go straight for her, get clean. You were born, and then Sammy and I wanted to be a good dad. A good person. I couldn’t, I failed your mom and I failed you.   
I don’t remember a lot from the time she died until I had been in jail for a month. I don’t think I was sober that entire time. I have glimpses of taking you and Sammy to soup kitchens, sleeping in condemned houses, but can’t ever remember seeing you boys smile. I’ve searched through all my memories and for 10 years, my sons didn’t smile.   
Sammy smiled in the pictures they gave me, but you didn’t. Both years, you look angry. You have every right to be angry, every right to hate me. I deserve it. You have every right to smile though. They tell me your foster family loves you, that you’re both smart and healthy now. They tell me what you survived and the work you had to do to get better was very hard.   
I don’t deserve another chance and I am not asking for it. I wanted to tell you I’m not the same man I was two years ago. I only feel regret and self-hatred for everything I have done.   
I have no right to ask but, if you want to, write me back. Even if it’s to tell me how much you hate me, I would be very happy to hear from you. Having strangers tell me about my sons isn’t the same as you telling me.   
John Winchester  
Prisoner number 9412485  
Mike Durfee State Prison. 

 

Dean paced, crumbling the paper up in his hand, growling angrily, 

“He’s sorry? Can I write him back? Are you kidding me?” 

“Dean, isn’t that what you expected him to write?” Chuck asked.

“Yeah, I guess. I was just hoping for something more…..” 

“What did you hope for?”

“I don’t know. For a second, I thought he had decided to give up his rights. Let Ellen and Bobby adopt us.”

“I’ve never heard you say you wanted that before.” 

“I…I just….they’re my parents. I don’t like people referring to them as my foster parents, or to Jo as my foster sister. They’re my family. John was another life, that kid that wanted his love is gone. I don’t need or want that man anymore. Bobby Singer is my father, Ellen Singer is my mother. I have a brother named Sam and a sister named Jo. This guy writing me a letter, he’s a stranger. I have no affection left for that man.” 

“Dean,” Castiel interjected, “Perhaps you should write John and tell him all of this. Tell him you want to be adopted.” 

“That’s not a bad idea, Dean.” Chuck agreed.

“What if he says ‘no’? I’ll just hate him more. What if Sammy doesn’t want to be adopted, maybe he still thinks John’s not that bad.”

“Haven’t you spoken to Sam about the letter?” 

“No, Chucky. I was stalling until I read mine. I wouldn’t have even done that if Castiel wasn’t so pushy.”

“Well, Castiel was right. Now, I think you need to talk to your brother. You don’t know if his letter says the same thing yours does. Through all of this, Dean, your mom’s death, your dad’s addiction, moving to a foster family you didn’t know, the only one who shares all these experiences with you is your little brother. Sam will understand how you feel. Talk to your brother.” 

Castiel continued to nod; Dean looked back and forth between the two of them. “Ok, I’ll talk to Sammy. If you two are going to gang up on me, I’m not bringing Cas with me anymore,” he joked, smirking. 

 

The next morning, sitting on the porch steps, Dean handed his letter to Sammy to read, taking his little brother’s in exchange. The premise was basically the same. Trading papers back, Sam spoke first, 

“What does he think we’ll do? That we’ll be his pen-pals?” 

“I don’t know what he expects. Do you want to write him back?”

“I’m not sure. All the words I want to use, Momma will wash my mouth out with soap for.” 

Dean laughed loudly, “Me too, Sammy. I’d get a smack upside the head for what I’d like to say.” 

“What do we do now? Ignore him? Think he’d try to write again?” 

“I think, we should write him one letter. Just one. Say everything we want to say, minus the cursing, and be done with him, forever. I wanted to talk to you about something else, first.”

“Yeah? What?” 

“I want to ask John to sign papers, saying it’s ok for Pops and Momma to adopt us.”

“Dean, I’m 12 years old, you’re 16. We’re too old to adopt.” 

“Nah, I think we were orphans that found a home. It would be normal to be adopted.” 

“You think so? I’d be Sam Singer instead of Winchester?” 

“Only if you wanted to be.” 

“I think we should talk to Pops and Momma. Jo too. Think John will let us?” 

“I think if he ever truly loved us, he’d let us go. Let us be happy” 

 

The intention to have that conversation with the Singers after dinner that night was detoured by a call from Child Services. Adam’s mom, Kate, had finished a 90 stint in drug rehab and was going to be allowed supervised visitation with the infant. Ellen spoke to the caseworker on the phone calmly; Dean ranted and raved in the next room. 

“That stupid……….lady gave Adam poison. Poison! They’re going to let her see him? Hold him? That’s bull shi………..crap, Pops!” 

“It’s part of being a foster family, Dean. Sometimes we just keep the young’uns until their parents learn how to be parents. That’s our job.” 

Dean picked up his little man, cuddling him to his shoulder, patting his back.

“It’s not fair Pops.” 

“Sorry, boy. We help as long as we can.” 

Dean nodded in understanding, whispering nonsense in little Adam’s ear. Big brother Dean won’t let him get hurt, big brother Dean is going to protect him from that bad, bad lady. Bobby might have stopped him if Adam could understand any of it. 

“Well,” Ellen came in from the kitchen, reaching for the baby. “A social worker will pick up Adam Monday at 10am; take him to a family visitation center where she’ll be in the room with Kate and the baby the entire time. Then she’ll bring him home to us at 12pm” 

“This sucks” Dean mumbled, slamming out the front door, stomping down the driveway.

“That boy’s heart is bigger than his brain.” Bobby grumbled.

“We should all be so lucky” Ellen sighed, watching her oldest shuffle through the gravel. 

 

Dean wanted to skip school on Monday, be there when Adam left and when he returned, needed to know his little man was all right. Ellen told him the visits could turn in to a regular thing; he couldn’t stay home all the time. Complaining to Castiel all the way to MWH, 

“Dean, I understand you are upset by this, perhaps your focus should be on what is best for Adam.” 

“What is best for Adam is to stay with Momma and Pops, to be protected from a drugged out parent.”

“Like you and Sam should have been?” 

“Yeah. Sammy could’ve had a better childhood, never known what true hunger felt like.”

“Just Sam’s childhood? You should have had someone looking out for you too.” 

Dean considered his boyfriend’s statement before announcing, 

“That’s what I’m going to be, Cas. I’m going to be the person who looks out for these kids when they’re parents are asshats. What do you think it would take, education wise, for me to be a social worker?” 

Castiel smiled, “I think we should find out. I think you have a special place in your heart for children and you could do a lot of good. If only we could keep your anger and your foul language controlled.” 

Dean smirked back, “You mean I couldn’t curse anyone out? That was half the fun, angel.” 

 

First week of December, Adam’s visits progressed to two a week, much to Dean’s dismay. At dinner one night, Ellen casually asked the kids what they wanted for Christmas.

Dean locked green eyes with bright hazel ones, Sammy nodded giving Dean permission to speak for both of them. 

“Momma, Pops, Sam and I would like parents for Christmas.”

At first, Ellen and Bobby looked destroyed, as if Dean wanted new parents.

Sammy spoke up, “We want to have John sign papers so you can adopt us. I mean, if you want to….” 

The Singers went from devastated to overwhelm in an instant. Ellen smiled through tears of joy, Jo giggled about passing Sam off as her twin, Bobby spoke up, gruff voice wavering a bit, 

“You both know you are my sons. Paperwork and legal crap be damned. If it’s important to you, then it’s important to me. Let’s talk to your caseworker and a few lawyers. See if we can’t make you official ‘Singers’.” 

Finishing the spaghetti without a bit of emotion from everyone at the table was impossible.

 

Castiel and Dean were sitting in the living room, close to the fireplace, snow falling outside, looking a bit like a Hallmark commercial when Dean realized, 

“You know Cas. I’ve never been to your house before.” 

“No, you have not. Would you like to?”

“What? Now?”

“Why not. Ask Ellen.” 

Ellen, of course, gave permission. The boys bundled up and set out to the Novak Farm. The house was huge, bigger than the Singers and only two people lived there. Stomping snow off their feet, Cas commenced giving Dean the tour. It was a nice place, immaculately clean, Dean credited Castiel for that. His boyfriend was kind of a neat freak.

Cas didn’t show him the second level; both Jimmy and Castiel had bedrooms on the ground floor. Catching Dean’s gaze on the staircase, “My mother and brother both passed away up there. We keep it completely empty.” 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, Cas.” 

Castiel led Dean to his room, plastered with posters of bands Dean never heard of, something called ‘Bring me the Horizon’. Dean was more of a ‘classic rock’ kind of guy. Settling on his bed, Dean found the courage to lean over and kiss Cas gingerly on the lips. The older boy looked a bit surprised before returning the kiss. It was soft and sweet, nothing like Dean’s kisses with Crowley. He leaned back on the mattress, Cas following him down. They made out for a while, enjoying the privacy they never experienced at the Singer house. Jimmy interrupted, hollering for Castiel as he came in the front door.

Cas left Dean alone in his room to answer his father. Dean flipped through CD cases, gazed at the titles on the book shelf, leaning over Castiel’s desk to see a picture of a woman Dean could only guess was Cas’s mom; he knocked over a wooden box. The kind you might make in 8th grade woodshop.

Picking up the container, contents spilling on to the floor, Dean froze completely when he saw it.

A tiny vial of red liquid. 

No way. 

No fucking way.

Slowly picking it up, holding it between his thumb and index finger, he moved it upside down watching a small air pocket float from one end to the other. He heard the door click behind him, spun around with a hurt look on his face as he held up the small bottle.

“Cas. Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is. Please.” 

Castiel crossed the room, took the drug from his boyfriend, placing it back in the box.

“You do not understand Dean.” 

“You’re right, Castiel. I don’t understand. After your mom, my dad and poor baby Adam, how could you…..how could you…?”

“It is because of my mother, and my brother, and my father’s expectations of me. It is school and college plans and you…..”

Dean interrupted, “Me? I make you want to poison yourself? God, Cas! I mean, I don’t even know who you are!”

Cas hugged Dean tightly, the younger boy leaving his arms by his side, not returning affection.

“Yes you do! I am the one who tried to warn you about Fergus. I am the one who followed you that day and would not let you die. I am the one who stayed at the hospital with you through three surgeries. I am the one who worked beside you for physical therapy. I am the one who loves you, Dean Winchester. Do not tell me you do not know who I am. You are the only one who knows who I am.” 

Dean sighed, wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, burying his face in Castiel’s chest. Crying softly, he turned his head a bit so Cas could hear him, 

“I won’t watch you die Castiel. I refuse to do that. You stop. You stop right now. I know what it’s like to want to be numb, even for a little while. After Crowley raped me, I drank cold medicine to sleep every day for a week. This is so much worse, Cas. Please, please tell me you’ll stop.”

“Fergus raped you?” Castiel gasped in disbelief.

Dean had forgotten, forgotten that Chuck was the only person he had ever told about the assault. This was not the best time for adding to Castiel’s stress level.

“The night of his grad party, that’s why I tried to break up with him. I know about pain, Castiel. I’m an expert. This….this poison is not the answer. How long have you been doing this?” 

“Since Samandriel died.”

“TWO YEARS?! You’ve been playing Russian roulette with your life for two years?” 

“I have it under control, Dean.” 

“Good. If you have it under control, then you can quit whenever you want. Quit now. Flush this shit down the toilet and never go back. Promise me, Cas. Swear to me.” 

 

“Okay. I promise.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month later, Castiel’s car fully packed and a teary-eyed Dean stood clinging to him as if he would never see him again. They had made love almost every day since that first time. No one knew their bodies or their hearts better than each other. Cas whispered gently to Dean,   
> “I will be back at Thanksgiving. We will text all day and call every night. Please do not cry, Dean. If you cry, I will not be able to leave.”   
> Dean blinked his eyes rapidly, pushing the moisture back as much as he could, sniffling,   
> “I know, Cas. I’m trying. I’m going to say ‘I love you’, count to three and walk away, ok?”   
> “Ok” Castiel whispered.

Jody Mills stopped by just after Dean’s 17th birthday. Unfortunately, it was with bad news. The extradition request from America to Scotland had gone before their courts and had been denied. The reasoning behind the denial, not enough evidence. Castiel didn’t actually see Crowley stab Dean. It didn’t upset Dean as much as it probably should have; knowing Crowley was an ocean away was comforting.

Adam’s visits with his mom had extended to unsupervised and one over night a week. By the end of March, Kate would regain custody as long as she had passed all of her drug tests. As upbeat as Ellen tried to act, that it was the best thing the baby, everyone dreaded the day they would have to say goodbye to the youngest Singer. Dean took it the hardest. 

Castiel had been accepted to the University of South Dakota in Vermillion. In the fall, he would be moving out there, staying in a dorm like a regular college kid. Like a boyfriend that was leaving Dean behind. Dean had kept a pretty close eye on Cas since discovering the ‘Demon’s Blood’ in his room. He seemed to be ok, seemed to be clean. 

Bobby came across a 1967 Chevy Impala, needed restoration and a lot of work. Told Dean if he fixed her up, she was his. Dean was out there every day after school and full days on weekends. Had her purring like a kitchen by Castiel’s graduation.

Cas’s graduation celebration was a simple dinner with the Singers. Bobby and Ellen didn’t dress up or go out much, but for Castiel, they’d suck it up. Cas was very uncomfortable, being the center of attention. Afterwards, the adults and 13 year olds headed home, Dean drove his boyfriend to the lake. They made out in the back seat for a while. Dean pulled out a small box with a smirk on his face. 

“Dean. You were not supposed to get me a present.” 

“I didn’t. I got us a presents. Just open it.” 

In a small, black velvet box were two rings. Sterling silver bands, one engraved with ‘Castiel’ the other with ‘Dean’. Dean pulled his name from the box, slipping it over Cas’s right ring finger. 

“It’s a promise, Cas. You’re going to college, you’ll be away and maybe you’ll meet someone. I don’t know what will happen, but this ring is a promise from me to you. I love you. No matter what happens, I will be here for you the way you’ve always been there for me.” 

Cas pulled the one with his name, pushing it over Dean’s knuckle. “I promise too. The idea that I may meet someone else is absurd. It may be difficult for the first year, but I am going to be a teacher, you are going to be a social worker. When all of our schooling is complete, perhaps I can get different rings for the other hand.” 

Dean chuckled, “Why, Mr. Novak, are you talking about getting engaged in five years? So soon?” 

“I do not like to rush things, Mr. Winchester.” 

 

Sam and Dean received another letter from John, this one addressed to them both. John would not willingly sign papers for the Singers to adopt them. Stubbornly insisting, ‘once a Winchester, always a Winchester.’ After the initial tantrum, Dean grinned, “Wait a few years, I’ll send him a letter from Dean Novak. See how he likes that.”

“Hey! I don’t want to be the last Winchester.” 

“So, marry Gabriel.” Referring to Sam’s best friend. 

“Ew, Dean! You’re so gross sometimes” 

 

The last week of June, Dean received more mail. Checking the post mark, it read South Dakota so he thought he was safe.

He was wrong. 

One of Crowley’s trios of followers must’ve mailed it for him locally. Another glossy card, picture of two squirrels nesting together, sleeping. Inner message: 

 

\----------Happy Anniversary----------  
\----------It won’t be long now, my little squirrel----------

 

Dean didn’t bother calling Sherriff Mills. With the extradition denied, there was no point. He ripped it in to tiny pieces, threw them away and only told Castiel about it. They both lay, staring at the ceiling on Castiel’s bed. 

“What did he mean by ‘It won’t be long now’”? Cas wondered. 

“Last time he said ‘wait for me’, maybe he’s saying he’ll be back soon?” 

“There is still a warrant for his arrest here. That does not make sense.” 

“Cas, sweetheart, when has Crowley ever made sense? I’m not giving him one more moment of my time. I wanted to talk to you about something else.” 

“Yes, Dean?” 

“I want to be with you.” 

“You are with me.” 

“Geez, Cas, don’t make this harder than it already is. I want to be with you physically, like…making love.”

Castiel rolled on his side to face Dean, the younger man mirrored him. 

“Dean. I have never….I mean….” 

“You’re a virgin? Its ok, I am too. Chuck said until I give myself to someone, until it’s my choice, I’m still a virgin. You will be my first, hopefully my only.” 

“Do you mean….right now?” 

Dean laughed loudly, “Yeah, Cas. With your dad in the living room. I meant, before you leave. When we can be alone.” 

“I would like that.” 

Dean chuckled again at his boyfriend’s expense, leaning over to kiss him soundly. 

 

In July, the weather starting to really warm up and Dean still sporting long sleeve shirts to cover his arms in public, Castiel came up with a great idea. At least, Cas and Dean thought it was. Castiel designed a pattern of tattoos, weaving around Dean’s arms to cover the scars he hated so much. Now, they only needed to talk Ellen and Bobby in to it.   
Yeah, Ellen and Bobby wouldn’t even discuss it. If Dean wanted something this dramatic done, he would have to wait ‘til January, when he turned 18. Reluctantly, Dean agreed and continued wearing long sleeves whenever he left the house. Telling him he had nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about did no good. Even if you don’t cause the looks of pity, they still bother you. 

 

First week of August, lying in Castiel’s bed, Jimmy gone for the day, Dean tugged off his shirt. Revealing his scars to Cas had never been an issue, the guy was right there after it happened. He helped Cas off with his shirt, locking green eyes with blue ones, 

“We can stop whenever you want, Cas.”

“Why would I possibly want to stop?”

Dean laughed. He loved how much Castiel could make him laugh.

Unzipping and pushing his jeans off, Cas continuing to mirror his actions until they were both naked on the blankets. Castiel leaning over Dean, kissing him tenderly on the lips, the neck up to his ear,

“I love you, Dean Winchester.” 

Smiling, whispering breathlessly, “I love you, Castiel Novak.” 

Kisses continued, each worshipping the other’s body. Dean feathering his fingertips over Cas’s erection, causing the older boy to moan and whimper. Cas licked down Dean’s body, slowly over his nipples, his belly button before arriving at his destination, kissing his boyfriend’s erection before taking him in to his mouth. 

Dean gripped the blankets, threw his head back against the pillows,

“Oh, God, Cas.” 

Castiel continued to lather his tongue around Dean, bobbing his head a bit and lightly sucking. Pausing to run his tongue around that inviting pink pucker. 

“Geez, you sure you haven’t done this before? That feels amazing.” 

Castiel chuckled softly, “Instincts”

He introduced his middle finger, pressing just to the first knuckle, listening closely to Dean’s breathing. The moment he thought his boyfriend was uncomfortable or in pain, he would stop. Dean didn’t sound like anything but pleasure. Pushing in further, working in and out, he reached over to the nightstand, lathering his digits up with lube before continuing. Dean was about to make a smart remark about Castiel being prepared when his boyfriend introduced a second finger and all thought swam right out of his head.   
Scissoring his fingers, slowly adding a third, Castiel took his time. He wanted this to be perfect, wanted Dean’s body ready to accept his. All his boyfriend could do is lay there and whither, moan and beg. When Dean could take three fingers easily, Cas raised up to line their figures together. Neither one suggested Dean roll over, they wanted to be face to face, to see the love in one another’s eyes. 

Cas pressed the head of his erection in; Dean inhaled sharply, and then relaxed to take him in. Castiel was overwhelmed, the heat, the tightness, the need. Leaning down, he captured Dean’s lips, kissing passionately as he lowered himself deeper and deeper in to his love’s body. Once fully seated, they both froze for a moment, breath ragged, eyes locked. It was the single most intimate moment of Dean’s entire life. He would remember this exact second forever. 

Castile began to move, Dean wrapping his legs around the man’s waist, whispering words of endearment and encouragement. This is what it was supposed to feel like. No fear. No pain. Two people loving each other. It was perfect. 

Cas stroked Dean, the boy arching up towards him, until he climaxed, think white stripes across his belly with a loud plea of “Cas!” echoing in the air. Dean’s walls clenching around him, his name on his boyfriend’s lips, pushed Castiel over the edge. He orgasmed, so hard his toes curled and he bit the pillow next to Dean’s head to keep from screaming his pleasure aloud. 

Castiel lay with his head on Dean’s shoulder for a while, waiting for his breathing to return to normal, before pulling out. Dean’s moan sounded like disappointment, Cas smirked a bit, retrieving his t-shirt to clean them both up as much as possible. 

They dressed, just in case Jimmy came home early, and then lay back in each other’s arms. Dean was the first to doze off; Castiel followed listening to the rhythmic sounds of his lover’s breathing. 

His lover. 

 

A month later, Castiel’s car fully packed and a teary-eyed Dean stood clinging to him as if he would never see him again. They had made love almost every day since that first time. No one knew their bodies or their hearts better than each other. Cas whispered gently to Dean, 

“I will be back at Thanksgiving. We will text all day and call every night. Please do not cry, Dean. If you cry, I will not be able to leave.” 

Dean blinked his eyes rapidly, pushing the moisture back as much as he could, sniffling,

“I know, Cas. I’m trying. I’m going to say ‘I love you’, count to three and walk away, ok?” 

“Ok” Castiel whispered. 

“I love you….” Dean spun quickly, hastening his pace to reach his front door. He almost had to run to keep his love from seeing his tears. 

Cas knew they were there, he had them too. 

 

School started the second week of September, Dean a senior now. Sam and Jo, both in the 8th grade had separate classes for the first time. Dean clung to his long sleeve Henley’s, kept to himself and missed seeing Castiel in the hallway so much his chest ached.

He didn’t have to ride the bus or hitch with his boyfriend; he proudly drove his Impala, his Baby. Dean picked up his little brother and sister from school every day, Sam particularly proud when his big brother pulled up in the shiny, black classic.

Strolling to his car on a normal Tuesday afternoon, he saw something on his windshield. Hurrying over, he found a stuffed squirrel, tail tucked under his wipers, lifeless glossy eyes staring up at him. Dean yanked it off his Baby, whirling around, searching for who left it there. It wasn’t Crowley, Dean was sure about that. No way had the man risked prison to freak him out. No, Crowley had sent one of his henchmen again. How could they still be obeying his every whim two years later? Mindless sheep.

Dean aggressively ripped the toy’s tail from its body, tossing it in front of the Impala where he could be sure to run over it. Twice. 

He refused to let this latest act of personal intimidation bother him at all. He wasn’t a scared 15 year old boy anymore. Fuck Crowley and his idiot friends. He drove casually to the middle school, scooped up his siblings, stopping for ice cream on the way home.

As they noisily crashed in to the house, cones dripping and voices trying to overpower each other, they discovered Ellen on the couch, face in her hands, sobbing. Ellen didn’t sob. Ellen cried quiet tears every once in a while. Ellen Singer did not sob. 

Tossing school books on the kitchen table, her three children rushed to her side, Dean lowered to his knees in front of her. 

“Momma? What’s wrong?” 

“Oh, Dean” she leaned forward, pulling her oldest in to a tight hug. “It’s Adam.” 

All the blood drained from Dean’s face. Adam, his little man had been gone for 6 months now.

“Tell me” he whispered, looking worriedly at Jo and Sam.

Ellen gazed up, “Kate relapsed. She got high, passed out and her boyfriend got angry with Adam when he wouldn’t stop crying.” 

Dean had seen enough of these stories on the news, “Is he dead, Momma?” a voice so hoarse he couldn’t recognize it as his own. 

“No, the maniac threw a pot of coffee at him. He has burns over his little body and several cuts that had to be stitched up. He’ll be in the hospital until tomorrow, his case worker wanted to know if we would take him.” 

Dean stared at her, waiting for her to confirm that Adam would be coming home. She caught his eye and nodded, “You’re little man’s coming back. He’s not going to be the same baby that left us. Besides the boyfriend with the coffee pot, we have no idea what other abuse he could’ve suffered through.”

“Demon’s Blood again? Were they checking in on him at all?” 

“After three months of clear home visits and negative drug screenings, they closed his case.” 

He laid his head on his mom’s lap, Jo hugging Ellen from one side, Sam from another.

 

Dean was getting his little man back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cas? Everything ok?”  
> “Yes, Dean. I am just tired.”   
> “Ok, well, I can let you go so you can rest.”  
> “Thank you for understanding.”  
> “Cas?”   
> “Yes?”   
> “If something else was wrong, you’d tell me right? No secrets?”   
> “Everything is fine, Dean. I am just worn out a bit. I will text you tomorrow.”   
> “Ok, I love you.”   
> “and I love you”

Ellen and Bobby made Dean stay home with Sam and Jo when they went to pick up Adam from the hospital. They didn’t want Dean getting kicked out of the building if he reacted badly to seeing the baby’s injuries. 

Little Adam was 14 months old, could walk before ‘Dick’ happened. That was the boyfriend’s name. ‘Dick’. Of course. 

Ellen carried the boy in to the house; he had changed so much in the last six months. Grew like a weed, head full of hair, chubby cheeks were still there and those bright baby blue eyes.

Dean reached for him; Adam buried his face in Ellen’s neck, shaking his little head. 

“He doesn’t remember us, Dean. He was an infant when he left. We have to give him some time.” 

Dean nodded his head, secretly heartbroken he couldn’t hold the toddler.

Bobby carried in a large diaper bag, whatever clothes DCS could find in the home plus the discharge instructions, medications and ointments for Dean’s little man. 

“How bad is it, Momma?”

“He’ll have some scars. You know better than any of us Dean, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” 

“No, Momma. What doesn’t kill you hurts like hell.”

 

Dean spoke to Cas on the phone that night messaged him pictures of a sleeping Adam. Dean was ranting and raving about the drug, how many different ways it could ruin someone’s life. Castiel was quieter than normal.

“Cas? Everything ok?”

“Yes, Dean. I am just tired.” 

“Ok, well, I can let you go so you can rest.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

“Cas?”

“Yes?”

“If something else was wrong, you’d tell me right? No secrets?” 

“Everything is fine, Dean. I am just worn out a bit. I will text you tomorrow.” 

“Ok, I love you.” 

“and I love you” 

 

The next week was a stressful one at the Singer house. Adam was in almost constant pain; his medicine knocked him out so there was a continuous cycle of crying and sleeping. It became routine for Dean to take over for Ellen when he got home from school, she needed a break and he needed Adam. The baby may not remember him, but the little guy would learn that he was loved and protected by the weird teenager with all the shapes on his arms.

Kate was ordered back in to rehab, her ‘Dick’ being held on charges of child abuse. Dean had heartfelt opinions on where both of them should be, and it wasn’t rehab or jail.   
By October, Adam had settled a bit. Doctor’s visits and play therapy became the norm, Dean insisting on being there for every appointment that didn’t interfere with school. Kate had left rehab without permission and promptly disappeared. Dean wanted to believe she was gone for good, but kept a fear that she would try and kidnap her son.

Castiel wasn’t texting as often, there were a couple evening calls not answered, Dean leaving a voice mail. When they would talk, Cas seemed distracted or in a hurry. Dean sick to his stomach at the idea of Castiel seeing someone else, someone smart and sophisticated, someone with no baggage.

November, three years since the boys found a family and two years since Castiel saved his life, his boyfriend broke the news that he would be unable to come home for Thanksgiving. Dean argued with him,

“I am staying here to finish a paper” 

“Can’t you work on it here?”

“No. There will be too many distractions.” 

“Your father and your boyfriend are ‘distractions’ now?” 

“Dean, you are being juvenile.” 

“Yes. I probably am. You’re so grown up, all your new college responsibilities. You’re lying to me Cas. I need to know the real reason you’re not coming home. You told me when you left that you’d be back at Thanksgiving. What could be more important than being with your family?”

“I have to go, Dean.” 

“No! You don’t ‘have to go’. You need to talk to me, tell me what the hell is going on.” 

“I will call you later” 

“Cas….” 

He hung up. Dean sat on his bed, staring at the cell phone in his hand, losing all track of time. A thousand possibilities, a thousand different reasons for Castiel to act like this. 

Dean didn’t like a single one. 

 

December rolled in; record breaking temperatures that had Dean’s right hand in almost constant pain. He wore two gloves, staying inside whenever possible. Castiel still seemed to be avoiding him, every phone call ended up in an argument, finally Cas stopped answering. Dean had enough. Gassing up the Impala, he drove an hour and a half to Vermillion. 

Getting lost on campus was incredibly easy. Dean had to keep stopping strangers and asking then for directions. He finally made it to Castiel’s dorm, searching each floor for room 512, he knocked loudly.

The guy that answered was not Castiel. He was a good-looking blonde hair, blue eyed Adonis that instantly made Dean sick to his stomach.

“I’m looking for Castiel” he managed to mumble out.

“Babe, if you’re looking to hook-up, you’re wasting your time. All this dudes every talked about is some guy named ‘Dean’ back home. Trust me, hon, I’ve tried.” 

The younger boy hid his smile and relief the best he could, “I am Dean.”

“Oh, my! Aren’t’ you a looker? No wonder Cassie won’t give anyone a second glance. I’m Michael, his roommate” opening the door wider to allow Dean room to enter. “Cassie is passed out on the bed, again. He’s hardy awake anymore and I’m sure he’s failing most of his classes. Good thing you’re here, Dean. Someone needs to light a fire under the guy.” With that, Michael headed down the hall, leaving Dean staring at the mound of black hair on the back of his boyfriend’s head. His face buried in the pillow, snoring. 

Dean lowered himself next to Cas on the mattress, brushing his fingers through the onyx locks, whispering, “Cas. Castiel. Wake up, baby.”

The man turned his head towards the sound of his boyfriend’s voice. “Dean….wh-what are you doing here?” 

“I was worried about you; you won’t answer my calls or texts so I came here in person to find out why. What’s going on Cas? Talk to me.” 

“You would not understand” he answered, rising to sit up, running his hands over his face. Dark circles under his eyes, face pale and thin, lids hooded.

“I can’t try to understand if you won’t talk to me.”

“Wait here, I am going to the restroom, splash some water on my face, then we can talk.” 

“Ok….” 

Apparently they had community bathrooms in the dorm, Castiel heading out the door. Dean looked around the room. Michael’s side of the room was orderly, Cas’s was a trashed. His neat freak boyfriend would never be able to live like this. Picking up a used towel and an empty potato chip bag from the nightstand, he saw it.

That damn wooden box.

No.

NO!

Hands shaking he pulled the lid up. Three vials of red liquid and a handful of syringes. He closed it slowly, staring at it before replacing the towel, dropping the chip bag on the floor. 

Castiel returned, appearing more awake. Sat down next to Dean, leaning over to kiss him gingerly. 

“I have missed you, Dean.” 

“Then why wouldn’t you answer my calls? Or come home for Thanksgiving? Do you plan on staying here for Christmas too?”

“I may have to. I am behind on a great deal of my assignments.”

“You’re behind on your school work because you’re distracted by something. Can’t you be honest with me, Cas? You told me once that I’m the only one who knows who you are. Talk to me.” 

“It is….it is just so overwhelming, Dean. College, career, my future, our future, my father’s expectations of me, I feel like I cannot breath.”

Dean smiled, “Our future?” 

“That is all you caught out of that statement?” 

“Of course not, but it made me feel a little better. I thought you wanted to break up with me. Castiel, I know what’s holding you back but I want you to say it. I need you to tell me yourself. We can get you help, Cas. We can fix this; get you back to your old self.”

Castiel’s expression turned from sad to angry. “What do you think you know, Dean?” 

“’Demon’s Blood’. Either you didn’t quit when you said you would, or you started up again when you got here. It’s ruining your life. You’re failing classes, ignoring me and your dad, sleeping all the time, the poison isn’t helping you, Castiel, it’s making you worse.” 

Cas’s face was still angry, borderline furious. Dean had never actually seen his boyfriend mad before. It was a little intimidating.

“You want to sit there and judge me, Dean? Tell me what I am doing wrong? I am doing the best I can; I do not have the luxury of playing the victim my whole life.” 

Dean stared at him, speechless. He told himself it was the drugs talking, that Castiel loved him and would never say something so mean to him if he wasn’t addicted. 

“I don’t play the victim any more than you play the savior. If you won’t agree to get help, I’m calling Jimmy; he’ll make you get help.”

Castile leaned forward, spitting through his teeth, “You call my father, Dean, and I will never forgive you.” 

“Then let’s find an outpatient clinic that can help, I heard they have a replacement drug that can ween you off, so your withdrawal isn’t so bad.” 

“I have it under control and I will not continue arguing with you. You should not have driven this far to give me advice when you, yourself, have managed to make every poor life choice available.” 

“I’m trying to help you, Cas. Saying hurtful things to me make you feel better?” 

“Leave.” 

“What?” 

“You heard me. I want you to leave. I do not need your advice or your help. Or your love for that matter.” 

He slipped the silver band off of his right ring finger, placing it in Dean’s palm before lying back down, facing the wall.

Dean watched the light flicker over the metal ring and then placed it on his own finger, directly above the one that read, ‘Castiel’.

Fighting tears, he leaned over and kissed his boyfriend’s (ex-boyfriend?) hair, whispering, “I love you” and shuffled from the room. Only when he was safe inside his Baby, did he allow himself to cry. Once he was calm, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, hitting a few keys, 

“Hello, Jimmy? It’s Dean. I need to talk to you.”

 

Dean drove home in a fog, arguing with himself that he did the right thing. Maybe Castiel would hate his guts for a while; once he was sober he would forgive him. 

Jimmy arrived at Cas’s dorm room about two hours after Dean had left. There was a verbal battle, ending with Jimmy picking up the wooden box and throwing it across the room. The red liquid splattered through the glass, on to the wall, syringes exploding like confetti.

Castiel’s father took him to an inpatient rehab center, Cas had physically refused to move from the car until Jimmy promised to call the police and turn over evidence of illegal drugs, making the law force him in to rehab instead. He signed him in for 90 days, hugged his angry son, and then headed back to the dorm. He packed all of Castiel’s things, flushed any trace of drug use down the toilet and withdrew him from school. 

Cas was angry. No, Castiel was pissed. The two people he loved most in the world had betrayed him, locked him away, treating him like a criminal. Neither of them understood. His mom would understand, Dean’s father would understand, Adam’s mother would understand. Life is hard and it’s painful and he just needed a little help sometimes. 

 

Sundays at Castiel’s rehab clinic were ‘Family Days’. Dean rode with Jimmy to see Cas. The man informed the front desk that he would see his father, but didn’t want any contact with Dean. The young man nodded in understanding, 

“I’ll wait in the car, Jimmy. Take your time, just tell him I’m here and I love him.” 

This continued every single Sunday, Dean and Jimmy drove up to visit Castiel. Every single Sunday, Cas refused to see Dean, the stubborn young man waiting in the car each time, asking Jimmy to relay the same message. 

“Tell him I’m here and I love him” 

The behavior broke Jimmy’s heart almost as much as it was killing Dean. 

 

Dean turned 18 while his love was in rehab. He had studied hard, made the honor roll all year and had plans to attend community college to get a Council on Social Work Education (CSWE) accredited social work degree after graduation. 

Adam had made amazing progress as well. Walking, talking, laughing, and all the things an 18 month old should do. Dean was his best buddy, jumped in to his arms the minute he came home from school. Kate overdosed three states away, Ellen and Bobby petitioned to adopt, the court stating they need to attempt to find Adam’s biological father first.

Dean had the drawing of his tattoo; the one Castiel had designed, hanging on his wall. Now that he was of age, he could cover his scars but he wanted to wait for Cas to come home. Wanted him with him.

The last ‘Family Day’ before Castiel would be discharged; he requested to speak with Dean alone. Dean was elated, almost bouncing in to a room filled with tables, chairs and other visitors. 

He spotted Cas quickly, his hair was shorter, and he had gained some of his weight back and managed to get more color to his skin. He looked good. 

Reaching out to hug him, Castiel pulled away, indicating the seat across from him instead.

“God! I’ve missed you Cas.” 

“Dean. I will be discharged next week. When my father comes to pick me up, I do not want you with him.” 

“What? Why?”

“I have tried to make it very clear to you the last three months; I do not wish to see you.”

“Right now or ever?” attempting to act casual while in more pain now than when he was stabbed.

“Ever.” Cas continued voice cold. “I will be home next week, we will still live close by but I ask you to respect my wishes and leave me alone.”

“If that’s what you really want….” 

“It is Dean. It is exactly what I want.”

Dean nodded, green eyes studying the table instead of Castiel’s perfect blue ones. If he looked the man in the face, he would make a horrible scene, screaming and crying.

The young man stood, walked carefully from the room, promptly collapsing against the wall in the corridor, sinking to the ground and spending 10 full minutes sobbing loudly.

 

Wiping his face on his sleeve, he inhaled deeply and headed to the parking lot to wait in the car.


End file.
